


The Judge.

by cherryscold



Category: Original Work
Genre: Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other, Serial Killers, just my OC that I couldn’t get out of my head, kinda graphic at the end?, nothing major i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22300615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryscold/pseuds/cherryscold
Summary: A rookie in her city wronged her a bit ago. She was going to repay him.





	The Judge.

**Author's Note:**

> my first work! a bit nervous, this was kinda on the fly bc i can’t get her out of my head. hope you enjoy this short story :)

Dead eyes watched her target.  
She’s been standing there. Next to her motorcycle, in her motorcycle outfit. Her death suit. Someone was going to die, and it wasn’t gonna be her.  
He’s been standing there, he noticed her, but didn’t pay much attention. He was in a meeting, buying cocaine. He didn’t have time to deal with stares from strangers; at least from people who didn’t look like police. A rookie in the business.  
For him taking a bit too long to learn, someone wanted him dead. Handsomely.  
She was going to take that offer.  
Her eyes were on him the whole time. She likes to stare; watching as he got into his car. Drove off a bit too quick.  
She tailed him. He was riding a convertible. A bit too confident, cocky. He was in the business, who would dare touch him?  
She followed him for a while. Out into the countryside, away from society. He was trying to get rid of her, she was too much like a fly, a mosquito, a pest.  
She was more like a bee, if anything. In her own headspace until you cross her; and when you do, she’s gonna give it everything she has to see you lying on the floor, begging for your life.  
He saw her pull something out in his mirror.   
He was sweating. He sped.  
There was a shot; not the kind that makes your blood run cold when you hear it, no. Instead it sounded like that paintball gun you used to play with when you were younger.  
His car ran off the dirt road; not under control anymore, for there was no driver anymore. A tiny bullet hole ran through his head, blood oozing out the exit; the scene revolting.  
She sped past; another body to count, another cross off her list.


End file.
